


Live Long Enough (To See Them Go)

by darknesscrochets



Series: Rainbow Souls [5]
Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Gen, Guilt, Hurt No Comfort, Platonic Soulmates, [looks at cel's backstory] it's free real estate, it’s 174 fic in this verse what do you really expect, mostly - Freeform, not beta read we die like romans, spoilers for RQG 174
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:07:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27691870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darknesscrochets/pseuds/darknesscrochets
Summary: Cel loses a soulmate, when the airship crashes.
Relationships: Sassraa & Celiquillithon "Cel" Sidebottom
Series: Rainbow Souls [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1999660
Comments: 12
Kudos: 21





	Live Long Enough (To See Them Go)

**Author's Note:**

> me: i’m not doing 174 fic in this verse
> 
> also me: writes two

Cel comes out of the crash fine.

In body. Not--not so much, in mind. 

Cel’s had the chance to learn a lot about a lot of things over their long life, marks included. They’ve learned that you can feel them form, if you’re paying attention, and they try to; they know that the strength of a relationship is mirrored in the strength of a mark, in the vibrancy of its color, but that size is only determined by that first touch.

They know you can feel marks fade. Just something else they’ve learned through bitter, bitter experience.

So at first, when the airship crashes, and Cel doesn’t feel anything--it’s what makes them think it’s gone alright, or at least as well as any sort of crash can go. They share marks with nearly a third of the crew of the ship, so you’d think they’d have felt _something_ if everything had gone _really_ wrong.

They do. Feel something. But not at first.

The aftermath starts out almost _better_ than any other crash that Cel’s lived through--and that’s a lot, given their long life and their wide-ranging travels. It starts out peaceful, in a way, where nothing’s on fire, no one’s screaming, there’s not even the creaking of the ship going further to pieces. (Cel rebuilt this ship from the bones up. They know how to build something so it just cracks, instead of shatters.)

It’s when they emerge onto the deck that it seems like everything starts to go wrong.

The snow is blinding, even under the trees, white and smooth except where pieces of the ship have torn through it. Cel would start taking stock, start looking around for everyone, except--

_Except--_

The way a mark fades is different, depending on all sorts of things. The strength of the mark, the color of it, how long it’s been present on their skin--all factors Cel has taken an interest in. Morbidly so.

They carried the soulmarks of their parents, for a while. Both faded to grey at different times, but each of them faded from the outside in, grey slowly overtaking the vibrant colors that had been there before.

Other soulmarks, ones they received from friends and old apprentices, faded in blotches, parts going grey individually until the entire mark was the color of grief.

Comrades and companions they’ve lost in battle, deaths sudden and unexpected--their marks tend to not so much as fade as pop out of existence, vibrant and full of color one second, grey the next, in the time it takes to blink.

Cel has watched so many of their marks just--disappear. They’ve lost so many soulmates over nearly a century of life. 

No matter _how_ the marks fade, no matter how their soulmate dies, it always _feels_ the same.

A spark of pain. It starts deep in their chest, somewhere behind their heart, beating as hard as it can behind their ribs. That pain grows and grows and _grows_ until it’s all they feel, as if their very _soul_ is crying out in agony. (Maybe it is. They’ve never studied souls.)

Cel can feel that spark building right now, as they say “no. No.”

They almost don’t feel the pain as they lift their hands. Hamid’s purple-bronze is as vibrant as ever, as is Zolf’s sky blue. 

Next to those, Sassraa’s metallic copper glints in the light. Still there.

Still there.

Still there.

And then it’s not, between one blink and the next. 

All that’s left is the grey that they’ve come to hate. The grey of death. Of loss. Of _another soulmate, gone_.

Cel stares at the bodies littering the forest floor. Some are still alive, others clearly dead; some are only hinted at, unmoving beneath mounds of snow. 

They can’t see Sassraa’s body under that snow. Cel is absolutely certain of what’s happened, even without the visual confirmation. A grey mark is pretty clear.

A broken, half-formed whisper escapes them. A plea, to anyone that might be listening.

“No. _Not again_.”

That whisper echoes in their thoughts as they stand, frozen as the snow, on the deck of the ship. 

Cel rushes down to where they can see Hamid digging at the two mounds of snow, frantic in his grief. Between it and the cold, their hand feels almost numb. If it were any other time, Cel might try to take notes about strong emotions and soulmarks and bonds between souls.

As it is, it’s all they can do to stand a safe distance behind Hamid as he uncovers two kobold bodies.

They’re small. Still.

One of them is clearly Sassraa.

_Not again_ , Cel thinks.

_This_ is why they swore off mercenary work, stopped looking for soulmates, stopped watching for people who might leave a mark. They can’t stop themself from getting attached, and it always, _always_ hurts, the unavoidable loss.

And with that loss comes guilt, because every time, _every single time_ , it’s their fault. Including this one.

_This_ loss hurts more than just Cel, though. Hamid’s grief is clear for anyone to see. (Cel has wondered if being that open makes marks stronger, or more likely to form. If closing yourself off keeps it from hurting so much, when they inevitably fade to grey.)

Skraak’s pain is obvious, too, the way they focus so single-mindedly on keeping everyone safe, after the bodies have been gathered up. The way his gaze keeps straying to the grey on his leg, where once there was copper, bright against red scales.

The other kobolds are calmer. Outwardly. Cel thinks it’s more shock than anything else. They’ve seen it before. 

They consider offering comfort, for a moment, before discarding the idea. They don’t have any left to give, and they don’t know if the kobolds would accept it. Especially coming from them.

Cel feels drained. Empty of everything but desperation and guilt.

It’s been--they’re not sure, when they have a moment to think about it. A decade, maybe more, since they lost a mark. They don’t remember how long it takes for the pain to fade, for the grief to lessen enough to function.

The guilt, though; the guilt never goes away. 

It doesn’t this time, either, even when a person in the shape of a bird lands in their midst, bringing hope. Bringing a _chance_.

A chance to bring everyone’s marks back, bring their _soulmates_ back, even if they’re not the same as they were before.

It doesn’t erase the guilt, doesn’t so much as touch it. There’s nothing-- _nothing_ Cel can do that will make things go back the way they were before. They learned that the same way they learned how many ways marks can fade: through experience. Through failure.

This time can be different. Their part in this doesn’t have to end at being _not enough_ , saying _not again_ , despairing at one more mark turned grey.

Maybe, just this once, Cel can get someone back.


End file.
